


No Apologies Needed

by Anika_Ann



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Attempt at humour, Bars and Pubs, Clueless Reader, Drinking, Especially Steve Rogers, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Girls Night Out, Kissing, Matchmaker Natasha Romanov, Meet-Cute, Mentions of PTSD, Non-Consensual Drug Use, PDA, Public Display of Affection, Public Display of Affection Make People Uncomfortable, Reader-Insert, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Team Natasha and Sam, Very Unexpected Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-18 02:16:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16986237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anika_Ann/pseuds/Anika_Ann
Summary: She did it again. Your friend left you alone in the bar only to make-out with a cute guy she just met. So the plan is to go home. Except things rarely go as planned.Then again, this change of plans in the form of a handsome stranger seems rather pleasant.Until it doesn’t.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently, I have a thing for meet-cutes. Who would have guessed? (I would. I totally would.)
> 
> And since I'm still trashing in my Steve phase, Matt is pushed to backburner even in meet-cutes. Poor thing.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy :))

You couldn’t believe she had convinced you to do it again. You couldn’t believe you had taken the bait, _again_.

 _A girls’ night out,_ she had said. _Just the two of us having drinks,_ she had said. _No boys allowed,_ she had said.

The first brunette passing your table caught her attention, but Nicol had tried to be a good friend and keep her promise, ignoring his suggestive wink. You wanted to congratulate her for the restraint.

And then another one had come and you were left alone in the bar, just like always. You were so stupid. Why had you come here? You weren’t exactly number one fan of bars. You just let Nicol tag you along, only to be abandoned. Every. Single. Time.

You finished your drink – the second one ever since your so called friend had left you – and considered taking off. You couldn’t see Nicol anywhere, probably because she was having a wild make-out session with the hot brunette no.2, and you were feeling a bit tipsy yourself – which was never a good state. One more drink and you might make a decision you would regret lately. Also, walking New York’s streets at night was bad enough itself; you didn’t need to add your drunken ass in the mix.

You slipped into your jacket and swung you tiny purse over your shoulder, making your way along the wall to avoid the people who had got encouraged by alcohol enough to start some sort of a dance.

“This isn’t funny at all,” you heard someone behind you complain in what was almost a whine. You rolled your eyes at the male voice and pulled your purse closer as you felt the man’s presence right behind you.

Yeah, getting mugged on top of all that, _no, thank you._ You quickened your pace, pushing past a girl who seemed to have more than enough; and you were not thinking alcohol. More like… you didn’t even want to know.

 _Nicol, I really hope your boy-toy is freakin’ worth it._ You realized that you should shoot her a text at least – that you were heading to the apartment you two shared, for her to read when she wouldn’t be… _busy_. With that thought, you headed to your salvation – the exit.

It was when you heard him again, the guy almost sneaking behind you; his voice sounded differently now, more resigned than annoyed. Desperate even.

“Dammit!”

A strong hand gripped your arm and you choked on air as the man spun you around swiftly.

“Hey-“ you snapped at him – him being a hooded guy – your lungs gathering enough air to let out a scream.

“Please, play along.”

Those words shocked you, but you had no time to question them as you were suddenly backed against the wall, the stranger’s mouth on yours.

You gasped at the feeling, unintentionally parting your lips, only to meet his warm breath.

“Please,” he whispered, his large hand cupping your cheek and at the surprisingly tender gesture, you allowed yourself to close your eyes, your rapidly beating heart slowing down just a little.

Somehow, your brain was working one hundred percent – at least certain areas, while others were just too drunk to function. You had got the message – he possibly didn’t like the prospect of kissing you unexpectedly any more than you did and only did it because he was trying to get someone off of his back.

Your pulse wavered in fear and for a second you wanted to push him away – but then the memory of his soft apologizing tone hit you and you just couldn't do it. You suddenly didn't care why he needed to hide – whether it was a crazy clingy ex, a drunken friend or a drug cartel he owned money to. It didn't matter to you, as insane as that made you.

Perhaps it was the alcohol in your bloodstream – or the fact that his lips felt very nice against yours, or the broad shoulders you had managed to notice during your super-fast panicked inspection of the stranger who had grabbed you. The lips didn’t seem to be close enough and neither did his body. You sneaked one hand around his waist, gasping when you felt the firmness of his muscles, unable to stop your hand from reaching a bit lower to what you expected to be a booty feeling just as firm. You were _not_ disappointed and boy, if that sensation didn’t warm your belly in the most delicious way.

Your other hand slipped under the hood of his sweatshirt and you could feel him stiffen as he probably thought you were about to expose him. But you simply slid your fingers into his locks, earning a soft sigh from him. It apparently encouraged him to press his body closer to yours.

Now _that_ was a believable make-out session for this kind of place and you would be damned if your evening just didn’t turn way better than you had expected. The man’s lips were still dancing with yours, slowing down, until there was just a ghost of a touch of them on yours, his fingers resting lightly against your cheek, while his other hand was on your hip.

When had he started touching your hip?

You were breathing heavily, attacked by his unobtrusive cologne that somehow felt vintage. You crossed out a low-life persona from your mental list of people who might have just kissed you, because someone who smelled this nice couldn’t be hanging out on the streets most of his days. Also, you couldn’t smell large amount of alcohol on him, which only supported your theory.

And _wow_ , your brain was so busying itself with stuff that weren’t important.

You licked your lips, gulping. Well. Now should come the awkward part. You couldn’t make yourself open your eyes.

“So… are we good, Stranger?” you asked hoarsely, your throat too tight to allow you to speak clearly. You fought the urge to swallow again.

“Depends,” his equally rough voice caressed you and your fingertips tingled _. Jeeez, girl, get a grip, god knows who this guy is-_ “Is there a white male, 5 feet 9 tall, dark hair, athletic built, wearing black t-shirt and jeans or a white male 6 feet 3 tall, blond, muscular, in dark blue t-shirt and jeans in sight?” 

Your heart jumped to your throat and your eyes snapped open at the first words he said. _White male about 5 feet 9 tall, athletic built-?_ What kind of a person described people like that? What the _hell_ did you get yourself into?

…not that you had been in it voluntarily. At least from the beginning, later on it was— _shut up._

You raised your gaze from his neck – because he was just that tall – and let your eyes roam around the room, searching for the men he had just described. You had no clue, it was rather the way he had said those words than their actual meaning that got stuck in your brain, but you didn’t think you saw anyone who looked like that… and seemed especially intimidating on top of that, because you guessed that if a walking rock like this hooded stranger himself felt the need to hide…

“No, I don't think I see anyone who would match that description,” you whispered dutifully, fighting the urge to add _‘Sir’_. He was just giving a vibe of a man you should be addressing ‘Sir’.

With your mouth dry, you looked up to the man’s face still partially hidden in the shadows of his hood.

Beautiful eyes met yours with unbearable intensity. Your stomach clenched, but not uncomfortably. Oh boy, he was a looker; bright blue eyes, blond hair, ripped body… you realized you were still touching him – quite inappropriately – and let go of his shoulder and… bottom, yeah. Though it was as hard as if there were magnets between you, the sensation just way too pleasant under your fingertips only a moment ago.

He must have come to a certain conclusions hearing your strangled voice, because his gaze softened, allowing you to breathe in properly.

“I'm sorry for... throwing myself at you like this, Ma’am.” _Here it comes. Ma’am. I really should have called him ‘Sir’._ “I really am, I would never-“

You felt the tension building in your shoulders ease with the way he sounded; slightly embarrassed and... well, utterly adorable. This guy was a _good_ guy, you decided. There was no way he was not on the side of the angels, not with the sincere apologetic eyes and the tone he spoke in.

Crazily enough – and you blamed the alcohol, really – it made you smile rather confidently.

“Hate to break it to you, but you did literally nothing that would require an apology.”

Even with the poor light and the hood, you would swear his cheeks flushed with a little red. It was so cute you would cry. Putting a respectful distance between the two of you – and you did _not_ feel sorry for the loss of contact, not _at all_ , that would be weird –, he cleared his throat.

“I’m— at least... may I buy you a drink as an apology, Ma’am?”

The _Ma’am_ thing again. Had he been raised in a freaking castle? _Military, you dumbass, maybe he is military-_

“Uhm... o-okay,” you stuttered, completely forgetting you had decided to stop drinking for the night. It would be impolite to decline, right? Plus, after what just happened – or was still happening? – you could use a drink.

He gave you a bashful yet brilliant smile and your heart melted, your legs turning into an uncooperative mass of jello. Seeing your hesitation, he offered you a hand. It was an utterly sweet and chaste gesture – especially given how the two of you had been touching just few moments ago.

You found yourself staring at him as he led you to the bar. He seemed to grow now, holding himself like… well, like a military man, perhaps. The grey hoodie looked size too big around his middle, but was struggling in the higher area – his shoulders and arms were wrapped tightly and you could almost hear the fabric cry. His jeans were… wrapping his bottom pretty nicely, making your cheeks flush with the memory of touching it without any warning or permission. You quickly raised your eyes, afraid he might catch you staring if he turned to you unexpectedly.

Even when seating himself on a bar stool and catching the bartender’s attention, he left the hood on. He only let go of your hand when you were both sitting and the man behind the bar approached you. You ordered another margarita while he had a scotch. He paid for you both of course.

His body was slightly directed to you, remaining somewhat polite, but his eyes were rather on his drink, not meeting yours; until they did.

You almost fell of the stool as you were surprised by gaze staring right into your soul.

“I truly am sorry for assaulting you, Ma’am. But I would like you to know I’m very grateful for your cooperation,” he exclaimed, voice less measured than you would expect with the way he carried himself.

You felt burst of blood in your cheeks when he called the make-out session and your wandering hands a _cooperation._

“It was no trouble… Sir.”

You could see the corners of his lips rise as he offered you his hand again, this time obviously to shake yours.

“My name is Steve.”

You accepted his hand, nodding, and sheepishly whispered your name back. You wanted to ask whom the hell he was running from, why he had picked you of all people around, who he was, but you couldn’t make yourself to do it. Possibly because you were well-aware of the fact he wouldn’t answer any of those questions.

Instead, you raised your glass, gesturing towards his. You had no idea what you should make a toast to, so you didn’t say anything, just attempted a tiny smile. _Steve_ reciprocated it and sipped his scotch, only to put down the glass down a second later.

He sighed then, sounding a bit irritated. You studied him carefully, wondering what you had done to cause the change in his mood. He made a subtle motion towards his neck and you noticed his fingertips brushing his ear.

Your heart skipped a beat before it broke into a gallop. _Jesus_ , was he... was he wearing an earpiece? Comms? Was he actually… some kind of a spy?! What the-

“I'm sorry. I have to go.”

“Oh,” you only let out intelligently as he downed the glass in one go. _Christ_. He stood up hastily.

“Thank you-- thank you again for your help, Ma’am. It was nice to meet you,” he said with a nervous smile and headed towards the exit abruptly.

He couldn’t see the quick smile you gave him as you followed him with your stare.

“Was my pleasure…”

He was almost by the door when a redhead woman, also in a hood, only worn lower, wrapped her arm around his shoulder with a grin. _Now_ you were taken aback utterly, possibly even more than earlier that evening. What the hell?! Was this his girlfriend? Or-?

Even from the distance, you could see Steve’s lips mimicking a very clear 'shut up' at her and then the woman turned directly to you, met your eyes and gave you a playful wink.

You blushed harder and not just from alcohol. The strangest thing was that… the wink didn't scare you or made you feel guilty or something. The gesture wasn't saying _'that's my man, bitch',_ but more like a _'good job, sister, I hope you enjoyed'._

And then they were gone.

You hypnotized at the door long after they had left, your imagination running wild. For some reason, the movie Mr. and Mrs. Smith came to your mind and you had to roll your eyes at the ridiculous picture of Steve and the woman being a married spy couple.

You returned to your drink and shook your head in silent wonder. The alcohol was starting to taste a bit funny on your tongue; just another indication it was time to finish your _last_ drink and go home.

That was the plan anyway.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry? I'm not even sure what this is. It’s just… Steve and forced PDA :D I’m never getting over that scene in CA:WS. Ever. _His face...! ___


	2. Chapter 2

An unpleasant sensation of cold tickling your feet woke you up – or maybe it was the pounding headache, you weren’t sure. But you definitely wanted to bury yourself deeper in your covers and sleep for at least a week. You wanted to pull the covers over your head, but your limbs felt way too heavy to complete the task.

The memories of yesterday night were a bit hazier than you would like; you couldn’t even remember getting home, so maybe this was the universe punishing you for getting so royally drunk. You groaned and tried harder to muffle yourself  and keep yourself warm; only to realize you indeed couldn’t move your hands. Or your legs for that matter.

In fact, you weren’t even lying. You were sitting upright, your back rather narrow against a flat hard surface and you had a cramp in your neck as your head had been hanging down.

Your eyes snapped the moment your heart started beating its way out of your chest, your breathing turning frantic. You weren’t hit by the sharp morning light peeking from under the curtains of your room and you were definitely not staring at your dark purple carpet. You were staring at a concrete floor, where your bare feet were resting, tied to legs of a chair you were sitting on.

Your mind turned blank, your blood roaring in your ears, only adding to the headache. The shiver running down your spine had nothing to do with the cold now.

You looked around the dimly illuminated room – messy and cold… a warehouse? _Jesus._ – only to find a guy sitting on a chair opposite to you staring right back. He was leant forward, his elbows on his knees, fingers interlaced. And he was grinning at you cockily.

“Morning, Sunshine.”

He slowly rose to his feet, making his way to you predatorily. You subconsciously backed against the chair, tugging at the cuffs restraining your wrists to your sides. His smile widened. You pulled harder, tears of fear filling your eyes.

Even with the terrible headache, with what could be a serious hangover, it was way too easy to figure out what was happening. It didn’t exactly take a genius; you were kidnapped. Or maybe you had gone willingly, because you had drunk your ass off with like four margaritas and your brain had totally switched off.

And now were going to get hurt.

But _why?!_

Why would someone take you? Why would anyone want you of all people? And if they didn’t care about you personally, why— why were you still alive? If they only wanted the cash you had, they could have taken it. If they wanted to-- you heart stopped as the idea hit you like a train, all of your focus on how your body felt, _everywhere_. They hadn’t--- they hadn’t touched you, right? You would feel that, they---

Shit. _Fucking shit_ , this wasn’t happening. What if they… what if they wanted to sell you? You always read about the human trafficking rings, targeting women or kids, selling them the highest bidder. And then raping them again and again, torturing them until they wished they were dead.

Your chest tightened in horror, tears rolling down your cheeks. No matter the restraints, your body trembled in fear and desperation.

No, no, no, god, please, no- 

“How’s the head, Sweetcheeks? Had a little too much to drink last night? Or more than just drinks?” he called out, stopping two feet from you, leaning forward so his face was right in front of yours.

His dark gaze was piercing yours, amused and so mean. You squeezed your eyes shut, more tears escaping them. You felt his hand on your chin, calloused fingers gripping it tightly. You sobbed, your body too overwhelmed to make an attempt to escape his touch.

Not that you would stand a chance. You were _tied to a chair._

_And apparently been drugged_ , your mind supplied helpfully.

“Aww, Babe, don’t cry.  Do you want me to distract you? Have a little fun…?” his sleazy voice offered and you let out a whimper at the terrifying – and so, so disgusting – idea. Your stomach rolled over and you were sure you were gonna puke.

“Milles, stop playin’ with food,” another man admonished him, annoyed, and you jumped at the sound of the newcomer’s voice. The hand fell off of your face.

“Why? We’re gonna kill her anyway. I would take a picture, ya’ know. I bet it would piss him off even more.”

You sobbed again, your whole body aching and paralyzed at his words.

_Have a little fun. Playing with food. Kill her anyway._ Your brain refused to understand those words, but at the same time, you were painfully aware of their meaning.

You were gonna die.

You yanked against the cuffs with all your strength, but they didn’t move an inch. You did it again, feeling the rope cutting through your skin mercilessly, but the burn was almost pleasant, because it meant you were doing _something_ , instead of sitting here and waiting for them to kill you. Cold sweat was running down your back, but you ignored it, tugging as much as you could until you couldn’t find the strength to move anymore, your muscles aching and feeling like belonging to someone else.

You stopped with a frustrated huff, snapping your eyes open, finding the two men staring at you with raised eyebrows. The new guy actually looked a bit familiar, but it was probably just your terrified brain imagining things.

“Really, Babe? Aren’t ya’ a stubborn one?” _Milles_ questioned wryly, exchanging a look with his friend.

Your vision was blurry as your gaze flickered between them desperately. You still had your life in front of you. Practically your _whole_ life, for god’s sake, you just got your degree. You _wanted to_ live your life. And you were not above begging to achieve that.  

“Please, _please_ , don’t hurt me. Just let me go, please-“

_“Jesus,_ shut up. My ears ain’t built for that,” the other guy complained, pacing to you with his hand stretched out for a strike.

You immediately fell silent and he cocked his head to side.

“Huh. That’s better. Go check what’s taking Turner so fuckin’ long. I watch her for a bit.”

You breathed in shakily as Milles rolled his eyes and left via the very same door this man had probably come in.

Like a masochist, you couldn’t keep your eyes off of the hitman who was in charge of you now. You had no idea why; maybe it was the strange familiarity.

“So. Tell me. Who are you, Girlie? Why you?”

You looked at him as if he was crazy, the absurdity of the question making you let out a helpless laugh.

_Why me? Why don’t **you** tell me?_

“Why me what?” you whispered breathlessly.

“Why did you catch his eye? What so special ‘bout you?”

“Whose eye?”

His eyebrows shot up as you were watching him with a mixture of confusion, disbelief and fear. He examined your face closely, until a surprised bark of laughter escaped him.

“You have no idea, do you?” he asked incredulously, laughing again. “That’s rich. I thought you were just pretendin’, but you really have no friggin’ idea. Well, fuck me. You have no clue who he was.”

Your breath hitched as your mind cleared out, the realization hitting you like a truck.

Oh god. Oh god, he was talking about the guy from the bar. The handsome one. What was his— _Steve_. This man – and you finally realized why you had the feeling of knowing him, he was the bartender, hell, maybe even the person who had _somehow_ slipped you the drug – was talking about Steve. If that was his name anyway.

You truly had got yourself into a mess because of him, hadn’t you? A kiss. One goddamn kiss with a stranger, who might and might not have been a spy or whatever, and you were tied to a fucking chair in a fucking warehouse, your feet freezing despite the middle of May strolling, and with a death and rape threat hanging above your head like a sword of Damocles.

This man’s ‘ _fuck me’_ suddenly felt like an appropriate reaction. Your mind was racing.

“I… I don’t. Please, I _swear_ I don’t know what’s going on and if you let me go, I won’t tell-“

A sharp burn at your cheek shut you up, your words dying in your throat as you cried out.

“Told ya’ not to do that, Girlie. You’re dead either way, ‘cause we won’t need you anymore. You see, that door will soon be wired to a bomb our guy’s still workin’ on and whoever will come through will blow up, his insides paintin’ these shitty walls in pretty red. Not even he can be C4-proof.”

Your brain and stomach politely ignored the mental image the ‘bartender’ just gave you.

Who the hell was _he?_ Who the hell you had met yesterday? Why was he so important? What was this? Some senseless gang war? No, Steve – or whoever he was – couldn’t be a gangster, he must have been military, but-- what the _fuck_ was this about?

And why on Earth it had to be you who got caught up in it?

Your lips trembled just like the rest of your body as the said door flew open and four men, all dressed in black or dark blue, came through carrying guns.

_White male, 5 feat 9 tall, dark hair, athletic built…_ the words, painfully clear, replayed in your head as you saw a man matching the description. Another three came in and you had another winner. You felt a sadistic delight at that, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place.

Not that it mattered, because you were gonna die. Well, at least you would leave one less unfinished business behind if you knew what was going on here. The thought was nauseating.

The man entering as last stopped at the door, laying down what he was carrying. Your heart jumped into your throat. A bomb. He was planting a bomb.

_Jesus fucking Christ,_ this wasn’t happening.

“He answered?” your interrogator asked casually as he turned to the other thugs.

One of them rolled his eyes. “Tried to call us. Then it was just a fuckin’ spray of texts like ‘don’t hurt her’, ‘what do you want’, shit like that.”

Had they… had they tried to blackmail the Steve guy? What the _hell?_

Oh. Oh. He probably wouldn’t come unless he had a reason. Right. You fought the silly warmth around your heart when you realized he _would_ come and that he made some sort of a plea against them hurting you. Then again, he would be rushing towards the jaws of death, which… which sucked, yeah.

_Fuck._

“Aww, look at that, he cares about her. Did you know she had no clue who he was? She doesn’t even know who made out with her. Too bad she won’t get another chance to tweet about that or somethin’.”

You didn’t even try to understand now. You were just too exhausted to do so.

With so many men around, there was no way you were getting out. Not even if you freed yourself from the cuffs, even if your legs weren’t freezing and feeling as heavy as they were.

You were gonna die. And you were about to take the polite handsome stranger with you, whether you liked it or not. You sent a silent prayer and an apology to those who knew him and cared for him. And to those who cared for you as well.

And you cried.

  


  



	3. Chapter 3

You didn’t think you had any tears left. You could have been here for hours – or maybe just minutes, it was hard to tell when every beat of your heart felt like a sledgehammer against your ribcage, painful and destructing, instead of making you feel alive. It didn’t matter. You were gonna die and now the time was only dragging. You couldn’t say you were grateful for the delay in delivery; neither could you say you were looking forward to your death. How could you?

But seeing the men shooting you dirty looks, examining you, sometimes running their filthy fingers over the skin of your arms, nape of your neck or your face, luckily staying away from more intimate parts of your body, it was just making you want to throw up.

So you didn’t cry anymore. Goosebumps was a constant reminder of the cold air biting into your skin and all the alarm bells set off in the back in your mind. But your body lacked the energy needed for trembling to warm itself up and on emotional level, you felt nothing. You were just sitting there, unmoving and numb, cold settled into your bones, white blankness shining in your brain.

You almost wished you would fall asleep and… and then never wake up again – just sleep through your own death. That seemed to be a pleasant option, right? But your body wouldn’t allow you to doze off. How unfortunate. You were willing to bet your captors would have a good laugh if you told them; if you cared enough to tell them.

But you didn’t. And time was everything but flying.

\---

The sudden racket sounding above you make your heart stop and you curled yourself onto the chair, your eyes squeezing shut.

The room shook with the explosion and you would swear you could hear the loads of debris falling despite the fact your ears were hurting and ringing. Then the gunshot came, furious screams and cries, barking of orders and a strange whistling noise. _A spray of bullets_ , you thought. How long until a stray would hit you? Or a shot aimed right at you, hell, maybe straight between your eyes?

_A bullet to my head. This is it. This is how I die._

_Fuck, I don’t want to die._

Your eyes snapped open only to be narrowed against the flash of lights and the dust from the explosion still in the air.

The strangest thing was that you would swear the loudest bang had come from your right and from above – while the door was rather on your left, on your level. It was as if the newcomers hadn’t entered the expected way.

Which would mean no one had been blown up. No one’s insides were on the wall. You ignored the quiet ‘ _yet’_ in the back of your mind and breathlessly tried to focus on what was happening in front of you, not allowing yourself to give in the hope rising in your chest.

Maybe…?

And then a giant flat thing flew past you, accompanied by the strange sound from earlier and you would swear you glimpsed blue, red and white on it.

First, you didn’t make the connection. But when a seriously ripped guy kicked someone only few feet from you, sending him flying backwards – _flying_ – the shocking realization of what was happening overwhelmed you.

Captain America. You were a bit dizzy and a bit out of your mind, but you were pretty sure that there weren't many people running around with a shield coloured in blue, red and white, and obviously with enhanced strength.

When he spared a glance in your direction, staying still for what could be long seconds, you just knew. He wasn’t wearing the costume you knew from history books or from pictures of the alien invasion on New York, the suit having less striking colour, but there was a star in the middle of his chest.

It was really the supersoldier. And he was moving again.

You couldn’t fucking believe your eyes. Maybe you were already dead and this was what afterlife looked like? Just… completely insane?

Or this was very real and _Captain America_ came to your rescue. To be fair, you were pretty confident that a woman you just saw taking a man down mercilessly – choking him between her thighs – was Black Widow. Black _freaking_ Widow. Not that there was enough light or that she stopped moving for long enough for you to actually get a proper look on her.

Your ears were assaulted by silence all of sudden. All you could hear was your heartbeat pounding in your temples and your own laboured breathing. The dust started settling down, allowing you to see the scene in front of you.

All men were down. All the bad guys, to be precise. A woman stood in the corner of the room, her fists raised to her chin, ready to strike another opponent, who was not about to come. A broad-shouldered figure made its way to you; its dark blue suit only added to the impressive size, making him look freaking righteous.

You started at him shamelessly with your eyes wide as he knelt in front of your chair with his head down, giving you a perfect view on the ‘A’ on his helmet.

You gasped as Captain America almost blindly caught a knife his co-worker (fellow superhero?) tossed him.

His head immediately snapped up at the sound you let out, startled. Worried blue eyes met yours, his gaze intense-- intense just like you remembered.

The suit, the helmet, the shield, the incredible movements he had pulled just moments ago – it all faded away into nothingness. It was only his honest eyes remaining. _Familiar_ eyes of the stranger who had pulled you into the unexpected kiss at the bar.

The rotation of the gears in your brain and the final click felt way too loud. All puzzle pieces fell into place – well, most of them anyway.

"I'm not gonna hurt- " his voice started and that was the last straw. After everything that had happened, there was only one proper reaction – at least according to your brain-to-mouth.

"Holy shit! I kissed Captain America."

The said soldier stared at you, speechless. That was... probably the only reaction he hadn't expected. Looking back at the surreal moment of realization, you couldn't quite blame him.

Black Widow burst out laughing. “Yeah. Yeah, you did.”

Steve. Steve _Rogers._ Captain freaking America. Kissing you. Now kneeling in front of you. _Holy fucking shit._ The revelation was way too huge to handle.

The supersoldier seemed too busy with untying you to meet your eyes now. On contrary, the woman approached you confidently, the corners of her lips twitching.

“I have a question though. Were you uncomfortable? Because of that kiss, I mean.”

“Natasha-“ the soldier groaned, sounding annoyed and miserable.

Your mind was very slow to process. To say you were baffled at the question would be some serious understatement. Yet, you thought of an honest answer.

“Uhm… no? I… I don’t think that’s the— the word I would use…?” you stuttered nervously, not sure what the expected reply was and should be.

How had you felt when he kissed you? Uhm… well… maybe the words that just left your lips were the best of all you could have said; kinda vague, which could be a good thing, yet not insulting.

“Interesting…” the redhead hummed, earning a rather sharp order from Steve.

“Natasha, don’t you want to make yourself useful?”

“Buzzkiller. As if you didn’t know that the rest of the team would be here in four, three-“

“Romanov!”

Indeed, the ‘rest of the team’, which was six more men in bulletproof vests and helmets, armed to their teeth, arrived through a hole in the ceiling (now _that_ made sense). And they arrived together with a man who flew in thanks to a pair of mechanical wings that folded themselves the moment his feet touched the ground.

He moved up his goggles, looking around animatedly. “What did I miss?”

You stared at the newcomers as they immediately went to cuff the thugs and as you were watching them, you didn’t even notice your limbs were free until Captain America addressed you softly.

You blinked as you heard your name on his lips, meeting the blue of his eyes, full of compassion and unspoken regret.

“I’m sorry I dragged you into this. I should have found a way to go unnoticed without involving you like that. If I didn’t kiss you at the bar, I would never draw attention to you. I am so sorry-“

With a sudden rush of bravery, you interrupted his self-torment.

“You… you didn’t tell them to kidnap me, right?”

He blinked in surprise, his eyes widening, a hint of offense and hurt at such accusation. “I would never-”

“And you did just come to my rescue, right?”

His lips parted when he realized where this conversation was heading. “I-“

He shut up when your aching hand heavily landed on his shoulder, just an inch from the collar of his uniform. Just like in the bar, his expression and mostly his eyes softened with emotion that you couldn’t quite describe, but you suddenly understood was undeniably _Steve_.

And just like in the bar, you said words that could not be truer. Only this time, you added an exhausted and barely noticeable smile.

“I hate to break it to you, but you did literally nothing that you require an apology.”

Natasha, who heard your silent exchange as she was cuffing one of the guys nearby, smiled for herself and made a mental note to _definitely_ save your number just in case Steve wouldn’t grow a pair and ask you out soon enough. There was no way she was letting him off the hook this time. This time, she would make him to go on the date.

It was the newest mission she was assigned to right now and she was both, the boss and just the woman for the job. She knew there was no one who could complete the task better.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How to avoid writing action like a champ: make the visibility significantly low and the character scared to death :D
> 
> Also, I was thinking about how exactly this idea popped out in my head…. Yeah, I think the origin goes years back to this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WwzX8i0QSSo


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part was meant to be just a short and a little silly thing about Steve’s friends being the best… or not. It got out of hand a bit.

“Call her.”

Steve raised his gaze from the phone spinning in his hand, alarmed, only to see the source of the voice standing two steps from him with an amused smile. He stopped the absent motion with his hand and laid the phone next to him on the couch.

It had been several days since the incident at the bar and what followed it – including the medical attention given to the injured woman in the Tower –, but it was still very fresh in his mind. He was not about to admit that in front of Natasha Romanov though.

“Call who?”

“Don't play dumb, Rogers. It doesn’t suit you,” the redhead huffed, rolling her eyes. Steve just sighed. Of course she knew.

“Why would I call her?” he asked, honestly curious.

There was no single reason to do that. He had selfishly used her as a cover at the bar, he had got her kidnapped and injured, but at least he had apologized profusely, made sure her injuries had been treated and they had parted ways with an offer for her to contact the Tower if she found herself in any trouble.

Not one reason to call her, no matter how much of space she had been occupying in his head. 

“To ask her out, naturally.“

Well.

 _Naturally_ , Natasha would pick up on that too. So what, maybe there was more than just one reason why he was thinking about the woman and the character of some thoughts was very inappropriate given the trouble he had caused – just another thing to discourage him from making the call. Steve was almost ashamed of thinking about kissing her again to be honest.

“I'm not gonna do that,” he stated rather calmly, sure of the exclamation. He wouldn’t say he didn’t _want to_ , because he didn’t like lying. He wouldn’t text her or call her, because he had to leave her alone. She deserved a peace of mind after what she had been through.

“Um, yes, you are.”

“I _can’t_ do that,” he rephrased, staring into Natasha’s eyes with determination. He couldn’t and he _wouldn’t._

“Wrong. You _have to_ do that. You were making googly eyes at her. So was she.”

“I got her kidnapped!” he blurted out hastily, straightening in the seat.

“So? You handled one crisis together already.”

“Natasha-“

“And I didn't hear any complaints about the kiss either,” she noted with a knowing grin and Steve internally groaned, feeling the heat of a blush creeping up his neck. Now she hit the nail on the head precisely and Steve actually _was_ ashamed.

“That's— that's not relevant!

“That good, huh?”

“Romanov!”

“Grow a pair and call her, she was cute,” the spy invited him with a friendly smile, just like hundred’s times before when she had been trying to set him up with someone. Steve had thought there were over that.

Apparently not.

“I'm not calling her.”

Natasha shrugged and held out her hand. “Alright, then I will.“

“I swear to God, Natasha-“

Her eyes left his for a second and then she sighed, raising her hands in surrender.

“Okay, okay. I won't. And if you really don't wanna talk about it, I'll drop it.”

Steve blinked in surprise. Since when she was giving up so easily? There had to be a catch… except Steve couldn’t quite see it.

 “Um… really?”

She shrugged again. “Yes. Really. Not a single word. It’s none of my business.”

“Thanks,” he murmured, a bit taken aback by the kindness and sympathy in her voice. She smiled at him warmly and he allowed himself to sink back into the couch, slowly relaxing. She patted his knee.

“You're welcome, Steve.”

Then she looked up again, watching something behind Steve’s back. It was when he finally noticed someone else had entered the room, now standing few feet behind him. Steve quickly spun to face the intruder, only to meet Sam Wilson’s grin and raised eyebrow.

“So… have you called her yet?”

\---

It was a movie night. A very tiring movie night which Steve was hoping to skip, but the others wouldn’t let him.

They all gathered in the common room – where Steve found his phone he had been missing ever since the harassment time starring Natasha and Sam –, putting on the first episode of some TV series about a vigilante archer, because apparently it had been Clint’s turn to pick a movie.

Honestly, Steve was barely paying attention, his brain otherwise occupied; he was still thinking about contacting the woman from the bar, for multiple reasons. He was toying with his phone absently with one hand, turning it over and over, while he pretended to follow what was happening on the screen.

He almost had a heart attack when his phone announced an incoming text.

Tony and Clint shot him dirty looks for disturbing the atmosphere, while Sam and Natasha looked his direction with almost excited expressions. Bruce just ignored it – until another beep followed the first one.

“Sorry,” Steve uttered, opening the text from an unknown number with a frown. Most of the people having his number were in the room with him, hence had no reason to text him.

When he read the words on the screen, his jaw dropped.

**_Hello, Steve. It’s nice to hear from you. I’m fine, except for my distaste for bars growing and occasional nightmares. Thank you for caring. I’m sorry if you beat yourself over what happened, because you don’t have to. I’m coping. ..._ **

The text ended there, and Steve opened the next one on autopilot, seeing the message was simply too long to fit into one text.

**_… If you want to see for yourself, we can meet. Just give me a call when you’re free, I’m sure your schedule is more busy than mine.  
P.S. Of course I remember the wings and Sam. Just like Natasha Romanov or you. You are all hard to forget. In a good way, I mean._ **

Steve simply stared at the screen speechless, unaware of Clint pausing the movie, the lights switching on or everyone observing him with suspension way more intense than when watching the movie.

Was it really who he thought it was? But… how? Why? And— _‘nice to hear from you’? ‘Thank you for caring’?_ How would she know she was still on his mind-

He quickly rolled up the page; and there it was, an undeniable prove of the conversation not being one-sided and not starting with her texting him.

There were texts sent this afternoon. Right after he had been teased by Sam and Natasha. Right after he had left his phone behind – or had he? Or had someone just snatched it from his pocket?

His ears started ringing, his pulse hammering in his temples, the edges of his vision getting a red frame. It didn’t take a genius, it really didn’t. His eyes found Sam, who was now looking everywhere but at Steve, while Natasha gave him a small smile.

Steve’s blood boiled. They were both in this. _Both_ of them. Steve was about to commit not one, but _two_ murders tonight.

“Cap? You alright there?” Clint asked, honestly concerned.

Steve felt like he was choking on air, unable to form a coherent sentence to answer the archer.

“What is she saying?” Natasha pried instead, leaning in. Steve turned off the screen, slamming the phone to the armrest, not even reading the messages he had supposedly written.

“Out. Natasha and Sam, stay,” he strained through his teeth, his jaw almost hurting with how tightly he clenched it.

“What-“

“Let’s go, Tony,” Bruce interrupted him, sensing the thick atmosphere suddenly falling on their group. Steve didn’t care for the curious and confused looks he received. He had bigger problems at hand.

And murders to commit, because what the _hell-_

“Before you say anything-“

 _“What the hell were you thinking?!”_ Steve exploded, rising to his feet to hover above his friends. “Are you out of your mind?!”

“Well, technically-“

“I don’t care about technicalities, Sam!”

Natasha rolled her eyes and snatched Steve’s phone before Steve knew what she was doing. Then, he just threw his hands in the air helplessly, his blood pressure probably rising alarmingly high. She wasn’t even trying to look ashamed while going through the reply! She even read the messages out loud for Sam!

Steve crossed his arms on his chest, glaring at the pair murderously as they wore a matching grin. His ribcage was expanding wildly with every breath at the sight of them.

“Are you done?” he asked icily and Natasha looked up before levelling herself with him – at least as much as she could; Sam rose to his feet too.

“Why is this a bad thing, Steve?” the spy questioned calmly, almost gently.

_“Why is this a-“_

“She wants to meet you, that’s great, man,” Sam supported Natasha and Steve shot him a look that would have him lying in a pool of blood if eyes could kill.

“Except I’ve never offered her a meeting, Sam.”

“Well, according to what the texts say-“

Steve grinded his teeth and grabbed the phone so he could at least read what ‘he’ had written. There were three texts and an attachment. Because the amount of text just wouldn’t fit into one. It took a lot of restraint not to crumble the device in his fingers at the revelation.

**_Hello. It’s Steve Rogers. I am very sorry for the numerous troubles I caused you and I feel bad for what happened, for how we parted ways. It feels like I should do more for you. Please, if you would be willing to meet, text me or call me at any time, I’ll try my best to answer. I hope you are well. SR_ **

**_I’m aware that the way we met was disturbing at best and that I need to give you some sort of an identity confirmation. There’s a picture of Sam (He’s the man with wings, do you remember him?), showing how fed up he is with my moping and moral dilemmas. SR_ **

**_Of course, if don’t feel like meeting, I understand and I promise you will never hear from me again. SR_ **

The supersoldier was left speechless, not sure if it was from anger or surprise.

He had to give it to his friends – these texts, they were… very authentic. He could see himself sending those; polite and long, signed at least with initials, which was something his friends teased him about endlessly, always reminding him that texting was about being brief, contrary to love letters, and once someone had saved his number, he didn’t need to sign.

Also, the picture of Sam was a very plausible copy of his expression when he was being done with Steve. And all the words written were very true, luckily leaving out the fact that Steve was thinking of the woman in question in more than just one way. Natasha and Sam had both done an excellent job.

Except they hadn’t because texting in Steve’s name was just unacceptable – more so when it was about contacting a woman whom he had caused a trauma she was most likely trying to forget.

He glared at his friends, feeling his nostrils flare.

“You had no right to do this! If I leave aside that you invaded my privacy-“

“You left the phone on the couch and you don’t even lock that thing, Steve,” Natasha protested calmly.

“That still doesn’t give you the right to take it and just do what you want!”

“Probably, but it gives me the _opportunity_ to do that and that’s on you, Cap.”

“Ugh! That’s not the point, Natasha!” he shot back frustratingly and she arched her eyebrow in a silent challenge. ‘ _And what is?’_ “Did it cross your mind that she might be trying to forget the traumatic experience she lived through because of me? That she just wants to leave all of that behind?”

“Of course it did, Steve. But she wasn’t even hurt-“

“She’s a civilian, Natasha! Just because she _only_ had bruises and burns from the ropes – which are still injuries, by the way – and wasn’t shot or something, it doesn’t mean she doesn’t suffer the consequences. Not everyone is used to this level of stress, not like we are-“

“Sorry, Steve, but she was just fine when I talked to her,” Sam interrupted, crossing his arms on his chest as well, as he referred to the meeting after she had been treated. “And from what the texts say-“

Steve whined in frustration, running his fingers through his hair, fighting the urge to just rip it out.

This was unacceptable! This was bordering with harassment, it was hurtful and— and just incredibly wrong!

“It doesn’t matter what the texts say, Sam! You of all people should know how PTSD works! She could just-“

“Exactly, I _know-“_

“Alright, stop it right here, boys,” Natasha interjected, stepping between the two men and Steve realized that he was leaning into Sam’s space, his hands curled up in fists and possibly ready to strike. “What’s done is done. You know you have to talk to her now, Steve. And preferably meet her, because reaching out and then not responding is a shitty thing to do.”

Steve aged several years only because he did his best not to hit Natasha for the nudge. Was she really trying to guilt him now? Seriously?

Why was it fucking working?!

 _Because you don’t want to disappoint her. Because you do want to meet her_.

Steve closed his eyes, taking a very deep breath to calm down. He massaged the bridge of his nose.

“Of course I will text back or call now. Then I meet her to explain that it was not me who contacted her in the first place.” He snapped his eyes open, giving his teammates a pointed look. “And you two, you will come with me to apologize for hassling her.”

“Won’t do, Big Guy. How do you think she would feel when finding out it wasn’t you who cared – or at least decided to do something about it? We wouldn’t want to upset her like that, right? Now be a good guy and call your sweetheart, would you? We promise not to listen in…”

 _“Romanov…”_ Steve growled and she only gave him a cheerful challenging smile.

“Tell me it won’t upset her if she learns the truth, Rogers. I dare you.”

Okay, that… that did pull the rug from under Steve’s feet. Just like when she had been guilting him. He didn’t want to upset the woman further. It would be a wrong thing to do and… and he liked her, so it would be even worse. Not that lying would be any better.

“I… I-“

Sam patted his arm patronizingly and Steve inhaled through his mouth harshly at his next words.

“You’re welcome, Buddy. Good luck.”

“Now let’s invite the others in so we can finish the pilot, alright? You go make your phone call.” Natasha didn’t even finish the sentence and already went to open the door for others.

Steve was tempted to toss the phone after her. Except despite all the circumstances being perfectly terrible, he felt a flutter of butterfly wings in his stomach at the thought of hearing your voice.

He was an awful person.

He walked past his friends out of the room and went to his own, hoping that at least there he could get some privacy. A lump grew in his throat as he dialled your number, stage fright creeping up his spine.

And then your timid ‘hi’ sounded from the speaker and Steve found himself smiling unwittingly, which was something he would later deny, especially in front of Sam and Natasha.

If the meeting you had arranged for only two days’ notice went well despite him admitting what the truth about the texts was, he was not about to tell them either.

  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s it, folks! Lemme know what you thought ;) Thank you for reading and kudos ♥ (and comments, some_fiction)
> 
> And YES, they were watching Arrow. Because for once, I let the DC Universe fictional instead of mingling it with Marvel :D


End file.
